


Show'em What You're Made Of

by TheMutantHonk



Series: Watch Me Take A Good Thing [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Brain Damage, Eye Trauma, Fluff, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Recovery, kind of, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMutantHonk/pseuds/TheMutantHonk
Summary: This is the self-indulgent recovery fic in response to my own fic where Dick traumatically loses his eyesight. Because I just can't help myself and I'm weak.Maybe one day I'll refrain from using song lyrics as titles 99% of the time.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Watch Me Take A Good Thing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186415
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	Show'em What You're Made Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RebKa (RkB)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RkB/gifts).



> Endless thanks to [RebKa (RkB)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RkB/pseuds/RebKa) for cheerleading because it was that excitement that really motivated this work. So so so much thanks, you're the absolute sweetest. 
> 
> If you're squicked by torture, you probably could get away with reading this without part 1 or 2. 
> 
> Warnings for some tears, crying and sad people, panic attacks, Jason's mouth, medical jargon, traumatic permanent injury, grumpy people... Please let me know if I missed anything and should have tagged/warned for something I forgot. I'll be sure to warn for anything new I think may be potentially triggering in the future.
> 
> Author is not a medical professional and firmly believes in comic-book logic while also cherry-picking canon. Please don't consult fanfics for medical advice. All mistakes are my own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t need to come babysit me.”
> 
> “Right, since I have the best reviews in Gotham on Care.com.” Jason rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been in the works for several days at this point. It was even basically finished two days ago. Except that it was 10k words and I couldn't decide to post all of that as one piece, or cut it in half. After a lot of procrastination including playing with my kids Legos, discovering my PokeBank pass expired causing me to lose 10 years of Pokemon, and multiple temper tantrums (mine or my kids? we'll never know), I finally decided there was too much going on in the 10k words. So instead of posting this as another one-shot in the series like planned, I'm facing my fear of chapters and Going For It.

Waking up was a slow process, and Dick knew right away it was something he did _not_ want to do.

Everything felt heavy, as if he were laying in something cold and thick, floating under swamp water. His muscles were tense, prickly and restless, like every limb had fallen asleep, right there along with his face.

His face. Something felt...not right there, more than just the little needle-pins in his cheeks and lips. It was a struggle to figure out what exactly was wrong when his skull felt like a water balloon had been shoved in there and shaken up. He suddenly pictured his body adorned in linen wraps, someone faceless standing over him with a seven inch rod, because it felt like his brain had been all stirred up to be drained out like a mummy’s. The visual didn’t feel far off from the truth either, not when he was sure something was wrapped around his head, over his eyes.

Something about that thought seemed to demand Dick’s attention, dragging his mind a bit further out of the sludge it seemed intent to stay in. A groan met his ears, his own he was sure, because awake meant _pain,_ and he wasn’t prepared for that yet. His entire skull and everything in it just _hurt,_ from his brain to his tongue. Even somewhere deep in his eyes was on fire, though much of that area felt numb, dead. On top of everything, he was just _tired._

“Dick?” A shifting, the rustle of fabric off to his side. Warm pressure wrapped around his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you with me, chum?”

It was likely hard for anyone to tell the answer to that, what with the...bandages? Was it bandages wrapped around his eyes? He was awake enough now to recognize he was probably in a hospital bed, so chances were slim that it was a blindfold.

Dick knew he was missing something, something important, but it was a struggle to grasp onto. Whatever it was, it danced just out of reach. The steady beeping of a monitor he hadn’t noticed before began to pick up speed, and it wasn’t until the hand on his tightened that Dick realized his breaths were coming more quickly, shortened and erratic. It occurred to him that his body remembered some kind of distress that his mind hadn’t caught up to yet, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to not know. To just go back to sleep and put it off indefinitely.

“Chum. Dick.” Another hand, in his hair now, and he whined as he leaned into it. His throat caught the sound, making it sound rough, broken up. “Breathe with me, alright? Try to calm down.”

Some small part of him rebelled against the advice, making him feel like an angry teenager all over again. A bigger part of him, though, latched onto it, recognizing the concern in the gentle tone, and he paid attention, focusing on the exaggerated breathing just off to his right. Forced himself to concentrate on the little things, like the cannula over his upper lip, the soft rasp of cotton against his bare arms. The ache in his shoulders and throat, and the pinch of an intravenous straw in the crook of his elbow. There was his dad’s body soap, industrial grade disinfectant, the two scents slipping through the air that flowed into his nose.

Soon enough, they were breathing in sync, and the beeping slowed back into the steady rate from before his almost-panic. Dick felt dizzy from the comedown, and wasn’t that a strange sensation when he couldn’t see the room tilt or sway in time with the vertigo.

“Br’sh?” He cleared his throat with a wince, feeling his lips pull into a frown. The action grated sharply down his throat like a hot bruise, deep inside. His tongue didn't seem to cooperate properly, didn't move the way he needed it too. It felt swollen, thick and numb.

“Right here, Dick. Try not to speak. They intubated you as a precaution against the anesthesia. I'm warned it may have exacerbated your bitten tongue as well.” Bruce’s hand relaxed on his and patted it before leaving, and there was another sound, a soft scraping. Dick recognized it after a second as plastic against ice water and Styrofoam. “I have some ice here for the swelling. Open up?”

The air just in front of his mouth lowered a few degrees from the proximity of the ice, and Dick let his lips part at the gentle prompt. The shock of ice was cold, smarting over his tongue and sharp against his teeth, but it was a welcome sensation as it slowly wet his dry throat. He took the moment to focus on his mouth, satisfied when he didn’t feel stitches in his tongue at least.

Dick moved his hand, forcing his heavy muscles to work, and found Bruce’s wrist. He didn’t think he could move his fingers properly to sign, so he tapped what he wanted to say out against Bruce’s palm. The process would have been slower than signing on a good day, but it was painstaking when his head still felt so heavy.

_'What happened?'_

There was a long pause as Bruce took his hand again, long enough Dick was starting to question if he was even going to answer. He scowled, or at least that’s what it felt like his mouth was doing, and jabbed an impatient thumb into the center of his dad's palm. It earned him a huffed breath, something that sounded fond, amused, and tired all in one.

“The doctors said it’s possible you may have some trouble with your memory of the...incident.”

Incident. He felt his eyebrows rub at the gauze that wrapped his head as he furrowed them. It was a vague word choice, and the stalling was painfully obvious. Dick turned his face toward Bruce, lips a flat line. _'Not an answer.'_ His unimpressed stare was probably less effective with bandages wrapped around his eyes, but the message was clear enough to prompt a heavy sigh from the older man.

“...I suppose it’s not.” A heavy sigh now, and Dick could just imagine Bruce dragging his free hand down his face, pressing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose as he formulated the best response. Dick had to wonder how long it had been, what time it was. If Bruce had been there the entire time. His question was answered before he dwelled on it for too long.

“You were abducted three nights ago,” Bruce finally answered, voice kept carefully lowered. On patrol then. It sounded familiar, and he remembered kneeling, arms behind his back. His shoulder throbbed at the reminder. Cold water in his sinuses, sharp tang in his mouth, wet hair. Jason’s voice, sounding _sad._

Excruciating pain.

“You sustained some burns and your shoulder was strained, but most pressing was the mild bleeding in your brain. A CT scan determined it will heal on its own without decompression surgery, but you're under precautionary observation regardless. So far, things are healing as expected, but it's advised you get as much rest as possible.”

If Bruce was looking at him, he’d know Dick wasn’t even remotely satisfied with that answer. _'W_ _hat aren’t you telling me?'_

“Dick,” Bruce began, voice tight with a warning. For a man that had contingency plans for his contingency plans, he clearly wasn’t prepared to have this conversation.

Too bad. Dick pulled his hand away and jabbed a finger blindly to where he guessed his side was. From the affronted noise Bruce made, he’d been spot on, right into the ribs.

“‘S my eyes,” he rasped out, too impatient to beat around the bush. Too exhausted.

And that was it, wasn’t it? His eyes. Once the thought blinked in his floaty mind, he latched onto it, dread settling in. He couldn’t remember what happened to them, and wasn’t that so goddamn frustrating, but he suddenly knew. He breathed out slowly when the beeping began to pick up again, focusing on every breath. His chest tightened, stomach turned, but he _refused_ to have another panic attack so soon.

“I’m sorry, Dick.” Another non-answer, and Dick’s fingers curled into the thin blankets pulled over his body.

“How bad? Don’ lie." He knew he couldn’t handle it if Bruce sugarcoated this.

The older man seemed to realize it, as when he spoke again it wasn’t in Bruce Wayne’s voice, but Batman’s. Clipped, precise, and an octave lower. Detached. “Electrical voltage was applied directly to your eyes. The damage from the resulting burns is irreversible.” A pause, as if he were considering how to phrase the next sentence. “The doctors debrided the wounds to the best of their abilities, but there was nothing else they could do for your eyes.”

Nothing they could do. That was a phrase he’d heard dozens of times, but never once had he thought it would be said to him.

The silence must have gone on too long for Bruce, as his hand wrapped around Dick’s fingers, and he flinched the second he felt the touch. He wasn’t sure if it was because of how world-ending the news was, or that the unexpected touch startled him. Both, maybe. He sensed that Bruce might have had something else to say, and he didn’t want to hear it.

 _'I’m going to get that rest you suggested.'_ This message was tapped out firmly, and then he pulled his hand away, despite how badly everything inside him screamed for physical contact. More than ever now, with the loss of his sight.

“...Of course, chum.” If Bruce moved, though, Dick didn’t hear it. He knew he was being unfair; Bruce hadn’t tortured him.

Bruce hadn’t permanently _disabled_ him.

And that’s what he was now, right? There probably wasn’t anything left of his eyes. Nothing there. 

He won’t be able to look at his family again. He won’t catch the raw emotion in Damian’s pretty green eyes when he thought Dick wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t see Tim’s bright smile when he laughed with their sisters. He’ll never again catch the softness in Jason’s expression when he lowered his guard around them or joined Alfred in the kitchen, and that was something he already never saw enough of. There won’t be any more picking out clothes with Stephanie at the mall or watching Cassandra’s dance recitals or visiting Barbara in her tower. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything without someone else’s help, not until he learned how to be blind, and Nightwing? Nightwing couldn’t be blind. He couldn’t even drive anymore, forget missions.

Nightwing couldn’t fly without his eyes.

“...Would you like me to leave, Dick?” His voice was perfectly even, but since he'd known the man since he was nine Dick heard the silent plea anyway. Bruce didn’t want to go, but he would respect whatever Dick asked of him.

Dick didn't answer right away, eventually giving Bruce a half-hearted shrug with his good shoulder. The truth was, yes. Yes, he wanted, _needed_ some privacy. But he was scared, too. Scared that being left alone would send him spiraling, and he’d never be able to pull himself out of it, never push away the crushing weight that was slowly settling over his chest.

He was scared of being alone while he couldn’t see.

This was one of those times when “world’s greatest detective” wasn’t a joke, a sarcastic quip from his children, usually born from a place of anger and resentment. This time, Bruce seemed to know what Dick needed better than he did himself. “...Perhaps I’ll get you some fresh ice chips and let the others know you woke up,” Bruce offered gently, a compromise. A bullshit one, since the ice will just melt when he sleeps like the current cup already had, and Bruce could have texted anyone at any time. But Dick relaxed, letting out a shuddered breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “Five minutes. Everyone’s been very worried about you.”

He could do five minutes. Besides, maybe Bruce needed a minute to himself too, after being the one that had to break the news to Dick. They could both use the chance to compose themselves. And who knew, maybe Dick would be asleep again by the time Bruce came back.

*****

“If you’re going to creep like Batman, you don’t get to complain about him doing it, Hood.”

Jason stilled from where he’d been perched on the ledge of the open window when Dick spoke. His voice was little more than a whisper, and Jason attributed that to the endotracheal tube he'd been told about rather than a desire to be quiet. He'd been at Dick's window for the better part of the last thirty minutes, not long after Batman had vacated the spot himself. He could say nothing, and Dick would pretend right along with him that Jason was never there, but that would only prove Jason’s pride meant more than all of this. He wouldn’t do that to Dick, not now.

So he did the big boy thing, and pushed the blinds aside to slip into the room for the first time since Dick had woken up. “What Batman doesn’t know won't get on my nerves.” He tugged off his helmet as he spoke, hesitating now that he was inside. Dick’s head was turned slightly in his direction. He was changed out of the hospital gown now, into one of his own shirts and sweats, something Jason recognized from back when they first met. He’d guess Alfred was to blame for that, since it had probably been left in his closet at the manor.

The room hadn’t changed much in the two days since he'd last checked in, when Dick was still unconscious. Not that he expected it would have. A second chair had been brought in, one on Dick’s right and the other up against the wall, next to the fold-down couch that now had one of Dick’s hoodies slung over the arm. Jason was pretty sure he’d last seen it worn by Tim at some point in the last week, and had no doubt he was the one who’d left it there. A wheeled tray that had been pushed against the wall when Jason peeked in the other day was now pulled up to the bedside. It had a plastic hospital-grade mug half-filled with ice water on it, complete with obnoxiously huge ribbed straw. A book had been placed next to the mug, a laminated blue bookmark holding a spot near the middle. Jason recognized it as a gift Cassandra made all of them during one of her art kicks. His own was black with grumpy red faces all over it. It was the only one he used.

“Batman knows everything.” There was a crooked smile on Dick’s mouth, and it was almost unnerving to see it now, with the bandages that were wrapped around his eyes. 

It was better than the last time Jason had seen him awake.

Jason didn’t dignify that with a response. Dick knew full well that they were still on rocky ground with each other. It was better, recently, but that was only thanks to the relentless (read: annoying) efforts of the first Robin.

The smile didn’t stay long, snide commentary suppressed or not. It went strained before dropping as Dick tilted his head slightly, clenching his fingers in the thin hospital blanket over his lap. Listening, Jason realized. He stepped closer, making sure to land his boots heavy on the floor so Dick could follow his movements around the side of the bed, and used his ankle to tug the chair out enough so he could sit. Dick didn’t call him out on being unnecessarily noisy; if anything, he looked relieved, relaxed now. And a little irritated.

“You didn’t need to come babysit me.”

Well, that explained the annoyed face. Jason arched an eyebrow, regardless of whether Dick could see it or not. “Excuse me?”

A scoff, and Dick crossed his arms, drawing attention to the fading bruises along them. He probably didn't even know he had several perfect blue-yellow rings between his wrists and the length of his arms. Jason followed them up until they disappeared under T-shirt sleeves. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Since I bullied Bruce into going home to shower in his own bathroom?”

Yeah, take a shower and come right back out as the bat to check in on Dick. Because Jason had room to talk, clearly. Neither of those facts were mentioned, but Jason didn't doubt he knew better.

“Right, since I have the best reviews in Gotham on Care.com.” Jason rolled his eyes. “You want a babysitter, your best bet is probably Barbara or Alfred.”

“Then why are you here, Hood?” Instead of rising to the bait, playing along, Dick just sounded tired. Resigned.

“Can't a guy check in on the damsel he saved last week?” Uh-huh. Because he actually managed to save Dick at all. Maybe he killed the asshole who'd abducted him before anything else could happen, but the damage had already been done.

That didn't get an answer either, not for a moment at least. The silence left Jason uncomfortable, prompting him to chew at his cheek so he didn't start fidgeting anxiously. He almost startled when Dick broke the silence. Almost.

“I'm sorry.”

“...Come again?”

Now Dick turned his head toward the wall, giving the illusion of looking away. Probably a habit of shame and embarrassment, more than anything intentional. “I’m sorry you had to find me like that.”

What was Jason supposed to do with that information? “You’re kidding, right?” Dick frowned, opening his mouth to respond, but Jason sat up straighter to lean into his space. There was a short inhale of breath, Dick’s body stilling, but Jason ignored the guilt and plowed right over whatever weak remark he’d been about to make. “Right, because you got up that day, and decided that hm, wouldn’t it be awesome if I get myself kidnapped and tortured? That would be a really cool way to end the night. Shame on you Dickface.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Very mature.” Dick huffed a dry chuckle, finally relaxing. It looked forced, like he’d just realized he was tense, and didn't want Jason to think he was nervous around him.

Jason wasn’t stupid. They were in a good place lately. Dick was the one to essentially bully him back into the family, and everyone else into allowing that. But every so often, he still caught the way Dick watched him, like he was a time bomb ticking down and no one knew where the timer was at. It was fair; he _did_ decapitate eight people and beat the living hell out of Tim because he was feeling resentful. He could see how it stood to be a bit difficult to forget things like that. Especially when you had lost the ability to watch the unstable murderer in the room.

Or maybe Jason was reading too deeply into the situation. He’d probably be tense and twitchy if he was rendered suddenly and traumatically blind, too.

Dick took advantage of the silence, when Jason neglected to fill it, and gestured vaguely in the direction he probably thought the side table was.

He was off by three feet.

“Bruce left a book here.”

Jason gave the item in question a glance. “That your way of asking for a bedtime story Dickie?” he teased, once again telegraphing his movements to pick up the book and flip through it noisily. It definitely wasn't Bruce's book. He'd bet Tim had pilfered it from Dick's things, and Bruce continued wherever Dick had left off. His foot, however, found the table’s wheeled bottom and nudged it over silently, until it was where Dick had gestured. In case he was thirsty later or something, whatever. He knew Dick wouldn’t call a nurse over something simple like not finding his goddamn ice water.

“I’d read it myself, but…” Dick trailed off with half a shrug, voice a playful lilt in it. He grinned in Jason’s direction when he waved a hand toward his bandaged...not eyes. He might have missed the location of the table, but he’d been spot on with Jason both times. Creepy. Maybe it was a bat thing. Jason wondered if he had enough of the same instincts if roles reversed.

“Ha. Hilarious.”

“Oh give me a break, Little Wing. You make cracks about your own death on the regular. I think I’m allowed to dip my toes in a couple blind jokes.”

“Start in the shallow end, Big Bird. Better yet, stay in the kiddie pool. Your jokes are terrible ninety-nine percent of the time as it is.”

“You mean awesome. One hundred percent of the time.”

“Keep dreaming, Dickhead.” He cut off whatever quip Dick might have made next by opening the book to read, watching Dick from the corner of his eye. He was teasing, but Jason could see past the act like it was a window. Maybe one of the younger kids would buy it.

Probably.

They were both content to let the subject drop, and Jason read on well after Dick had fallen asleep.

***

Spending a couple hours in Dick’s hospital room was tolerable enough as he read while Dick slept, but once Batman slipped back into the room Jason had had enough. He left the book on the table and locked eyes with Bruce as he placed the helmet back on his head.

Then he took a page out of Dick’s book and dove out the window, _flying_ through the air for a blissful few seconds before shooting a line to catch himself.

He couldn’t decide if he was glad he’d come to see Dick or not.

Twenty minutes later found him at the clock tower. He hadn’t had the destination in mind, simply moving through the city mindlessly, but now that he was here he had no desire to be anywhere else. Clearly Barbara didn’t object either, as her security allowed him right in. Not something he could easily get away with, not without a little effort on his part, purely for their combined amusement.

Usually when Jason dropped by, he heard Barbara clicking away at the keyboard and no-nonsense tones as she guided someone or everyone through their operations.

Tonight he was met with silence. It didn't sit well with him, and he kept his steps careful as he made his way toward her, already clipping his helmet to his belt.

“There's tea,” she offered, just as he came into view. As expected, she was at her circle of monitors, every screen lit up with some camera footage or another. He stopped at the edge of the circle to stare at the mangled remains of the camera on her desk. It was the same one that had been brought to her just under a week ago. It was useless, his bullet had ensured that, but Tim had still pulled it down from the corner of that room and brought it straight to her before anyone else could get their hands on it.

It had been some work, but they had all ensured no one else knew Dick's identity. A bit of investigating with Tim’s help discovered the camera had been broadcasting only to the penthouse, and no one left alive, barring the bats, had access to the apartment. Every trace of Dick’s torture was erased, except what remained in Barbara’s system.

She was the only one who had seen the entire event unfold. It was a weight Jason did not envy her.

Even Bruce had yet to request the footage from her, and that was only due to spending every waking moment at the hospital with Dick. Tonight was Batman’s first night back on patrol. Jason wanted to say something about it, something petty and cruel, but the first night he lurked outside Dick’s window and saw the raw emotions all over Bruce’s face… He just couldn’t bring himself to. So he stayed away, instead.

Jason couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible Bruce looked like that when he found his body.

The air in the clock tower felt tense, silence stifling as Jason moved past her. Maybe that was his own fault. It was tense when he was with Dick, too. Brewing tea for them both was an easy task to distract him from the strained energy, calming him as he mimicked actions he'd seen Alfred perform countless times.

“How's our golden boy doing?” Barbara finally spoke when Jason handed her a cup, not looking at him. Her eyes were down on her lap, looking past her tea. Of course she knew he stopped at the hospital; some days he firmly believed she and Alfred were in omniscient cahoots.

Jason snorted, shaking his head. That was one of his nicknames for Dick, but he appreciated the effort. “I couldn't say. Cracking jokes, as usual. I don't think he's let it hit him yet.” He dragged a chair to her space, taking the rare opportunity to just sit with her while they...whatever this was.

“That sounds like Dick. He'll put thinking about it off as long as he can,” she murmured, the softness of her voice betraying the heartbreak. Jason knew she was right. As long as anyone was around to see it, Dick wouldn't allow his new reality to set in. Not until he was alone, no witnesses.

Sometimes Goldie really pissed him off. As if Jason or anyone else in their fucked up family would do any different.

Well, anyone but Barbara, Jason noted, catching the sudden sniffle and shaking shoulders, one hand held over her eyes. He took a second to wonder if he was special, or if he was (un)lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. He kept his eyes forward, on the mangled camera, and didn’t move any further than to extend his arm, the back of his knuckles brushing her thigh. She hesitated only a few seconds, placing her cup too-carefully down between the smallest monitors on bottom, and then his hand was gripped tightly in her smaller one. Her fingers intertwined with his hard enough to make the leather of his gloves creak. Neither of them spoke.

The rare moment reminded him that she was human just like the rest of them.

They stayed like that for a long time, hands clasped together while Barbara allowed herself a moment to _feel._ When her quiet sobs finally subsided, she gave his hand a firm squeeze before pulling away. She sniffed once, reaching up to pull off her glasses to clean them of the tears, and Jason turned to face her. He reached out to pull her chin up to look at him, taking in her watery, defeated gaze.

“He's gonna be okay, Babs.” She shook her head, but his grip on her grew more firm, and glassy eyes met his again. “No. He's going to be okay. This is Dick we're talking about. And he's got us, right?”

“...He’s going to be okay,” Barbara repeated him, and for a woman who'd just spent the better part of the last twenty minutes crying next to him, her voice was strong, resolved. He'd expected nothing less. “He's going to be alright.”

He dropped his hand and gave her a smile that he hoped was more convincing than he felt. “There's our girl. Now.” He stood and picked up their cups, tea long since lukewarm by now. He hated being wasteful, but he could make an exception in the name of comfort this time. “I'm going to put on some fresh tea, and you are going to drive your happy ass over to that couch, and the two of us are going to watch some kind of shitty TV until we can pretend we feel a little better about this whole fucking mess. Capiche?”

“Aye, aye, captain.” She replaced her glasses and gave him a cheeky salute.

While Jason measured out the loose tea, he caught her picking up the camera. She held it in her hands for a moment, looking much like she was handling something delicate, maybe something explosive. He kept quiet, keeping his attention on his task, and didn’t react when she moved suddenly, wheeling herself toward him. He didn’t look up at the sound of it being dropped into the trash, or when she moved to the other end of the room, settling at the couch beneath the clock face window.

“Good fucking riddance,” he whispered, and put on his best cheerful face to join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my "process" is to write everything in one go, and reread it out loud. I can honestly say I read this six times and still kept changing things, so nope. No more. It is being posted as the only way to stop myself. No more changes on this chapter! In fact, that's basically exactly why I cut the first draft in half and didn't get nearly as far as I wanted because I kept adding to it... (Looking at you, scene with Babs.) 
> 
> As I think about what I've done for chapter two and the notes I've made myself for future scenes...I realize this may be the beginning of a pattern...


End file.
